DUSTY’S LAST RIDE

By

John G. Sutton

He was Manchester Mounted

They called him Dusty Crutch

His horse was off a milk float

It wasn’t up to much

Earnie used to own it

Trigger was it’s name

They rode the streets of Salford

Crime busting was their game

Manchester was swinging

The lads were getting pissed

Wop Bop A Lulla

Boomed from The Ritz

Unitited lost to Bolton

City bit the dust

Trouble in the sunset

For the man that we all trust

They were running down Oxford Street

Bellies full of beer

Old ladies dived for cover

As the hooligans cheered

Dusty stroked Trigger

Then reached for his club

The adrenaline pumped

In his true blue blood

Flipped back the peak

Of his ten gallon hat

Then galloped at the yobbos

And gave ‘em lots of that

They say he died in glory

And made the mob pay

But the Manchester Mounted

Met his end that day

Now when the moon is shining

Late on Saturday nights

And then gangs are gathering

For a battle or a fight

Some say they’ve seen a phantom

Riding on his steer

With a ten gallon hat

And a six inch sneer

The hooligans who see him

Kick trouble into touch

For they’re all sacred shitless

By the ghost of Dusty Crutch.

 (c) John G. Sutton 1994

BACK